


drowning in thought

by glitchinspace



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, On the Run, One Shot, Plans For The Future, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 03:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15742881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitchinspace/pseuds/glitchinspace
Summary: Will doesn't like thinking about the future.





	drowning in thought

**Author's Note:**

> basically a cheesy lovey-dovey mess where will is a nervous wreck

Will doesn't like thinking about the future.

More often than not, it all ends up an uncertain, fear-inducing blur-- what had happened, what is sure to repeat itself, what is impossible and what only seemed to be that way. Pondering on their next move never leads to a concrete conclusion, never has an end. The anxiety he fought with from the beginning has faded, a fear of losing Hannibal, of losing their current life together-- which, albeit, seems less like life and more like drifting amongst clouds right before a nasty storm-- but only partly. Only in intervals does he forget himself, let himself enjoy whichever spot in the middle of nowhere they've ended up in this time around, the fresh air that reminds him so much of Wolftrap, of a life long gone.  
He feels many things when he reminisces, thinking about Molly, about his family, his life as a teacher, the FBI. A bitter, muted feeling seems to resurface the moment he dares to open one of those doors. His life has ended, permanently replaced with a ghostly existence, perpetually drifting in the shadows. His mind, at least, finds the comparison very appropriate. His thoughts have never been more clouded with dread, yet one thing for him was more than certain: this couldn't have happened any other way.

This is where he was supposed to be from the start. Side by side with the man who's tried to kill him, the man he's tried to kill. His hand seems to find Hannibal's almost by nature, interrupting it on its path to the mug in front of him. Life on the run isn't the most pleasant thing, and he sees it's taken a toll on Hannibal, sees it's taken a toll on himself as well. They've rarely talked about the distant future, never openly. They have only hinted at it, in few words, their tone more important than their meaning.

The other man seems to suspect Will's unease from the start, and the initiated contact only assures him further. Soon, Will can feel his gaze on him, gentle and unrelenting, and hesitates to meet it.

Hannibal was the one who brought up their future a few times, briefly. Sometimes he sounded grim, others hopeful and adoring as ever. They deserved eachother, and he never doubted that they would sacrifice anything to be together. If he was to be taken away, Hannibal would find him. He wouldn't stop until he did.

They were both close to death before the fall, and since then it became more than certain. They were conjoined, and one could no longer live without the other. Will still dreams about it, dreams that he's travelling this jet-black path engulfed with fog entirely alone and that Hannibal is just another figment of his imagination, just like Abigail in Italy.  
He would wake up with a start, shaking. Not horrified by his own imagination, flowing red with blood. Not this time.

This time the feeling was much more dim, heavier than lead, and his heart felt more pain than it did when it would beat uncontrollably. He would have never told Hannibal about this, not if the man didn't already know, if he hadn't deducted it himself, waking up next to him, comforting him, running his hand through his hair.  
The same thing happened this morning. They ate breakfast in silence, the contact and presence of Hannibal alone already calming Will, at least enough for him to stop shaking and regulate his breathing. He knows Hannibal won't pry, only listen to what he feels comfortable saying at the moment. He's grateful for that.

Yet he knows that the stare he's giving him will drain all sorts of words out of Will, all sorts of admissions, topics he doesn't think he'll ever have the energy for. He convinces himself that sooner is better than later for once, shifting in his seat restlessly, entwining their hands together, grounding himself the only way he knows how.  
Hannibal seems to welcome this, only slightly surprised.

"How long is this going to last?" the words finally slip from the younger man's lips, eliciting an ever-so-mellow smile from the other.

"What do you mean by that?" he seems intrigued, receptive, and his expression leads Will back into the past, back into the leather chair in Hannibal's vast and elegant office, the man's voice buzzing in his head as if trying to drill itself in as deep as possible. He can't say it didn't. He wouldn't be here otherwise.

A week ago, half-heartedly, he asked Will to go ahead and kill him once his mind leaves him. He couldn't bring himself to respond. He only blinked, feeling his heart miss a beat, changing the subject with a stiffness he couldn't suppress. The idea that the other man is nearly ten years older than him stayed unsettlingly engraved in his memory the next few days, not allowing itself to be forgotten.

His voice is a shaky whisper, inches from the other man's ear. "We won't be able to keep doing this. Not forever."

Will wants to miss his past life, and probably would somewhere deep in his heart, but the memories no longer feel like his own. He heaves a sigh, breathing in the other man, and he's never felt more like himself, more awake and more _helpless_ than he does now, not even after coughing up Abigail's severed ear. But this time, the helplessness isn't negative and infuriating, it isn't eating away at his mind and making him question his sanity, question who he is.  
This time, he isn't confused, and Hannibal isn't playing with his mind. He had his doubts about the latter, that's true, but now he can sense it his touch, lingering just a fraction of a moment too long, and the way his voice would crack ever so slightly when saying his name, nuances small enough that Will could miss them if he didn't know better.  
Hannibal knew exactly what Will was hinting at.

It would only take one instance of not being careful enough. They were considered dangerous, to be shot on sight. They barely survived the fall, and only due to luck. Hannibal nearly sacrificed his own life to tend to Will's injuries.

He squeezed Will's hand, locking eyes with him again, gaze gentle and unwavering. "We won't have to do it forever." It sounds almost like an apology.

"Till death do us part, then?" Will jokes, grim expression turning to something that at least hints at a small, twitchy smile, but he _means_ it, _means_ that he couldn't spend a single waking moment without the man by his side.

He's not sure what that means, if it means he wanted his death to precede Hannibal's, or that he would turn himself in if Hannibal were to die. He doesn't want to think about it anymore, because he honest to god doesn't know what he'd do in that situation.

He's aware of how feeble he sounds, and he blames Hannibal for it, blames Hannibal for just how clearly he can hear his pathetic heart beating wildly in his chest. Suddenly his skin is burning and he's bracing himself for the other man's response, feeling like a kid in high school.

Like he actually proposed, ring and all. Seems like Freddie Louds really wasn't too far from the truth with her accusations.

He can feel the other man stiffen at the words, expression cracking only marginally, only enough for Will to spot it.  
The next thing he knows he's being pulled by his shirt collar into a kiss-- their first-- and it's needy and everything but tender, yet it still provides Will a kind of affirmation not a single word could.

"Till death do us part." he hears, repeated in his ear, a ravenous yet shockingly uncertain whisper. Hannibal's voice is serious, strained, and Will knows he's caught onto exactly what he meant, knows that there's no need to ask the question, for he's already accepted. He guesses what they're doing could somewhat be considered elopement.

He knows how vague their future is. But there's a certain sweetness to it, now.


End file.
